Life is a Game for the Fool
by BloodFromTheThorn
Summary: Aramis really thinks that Athos should be questioning his life's choices. Athos isn't inclined to disagree. Tiny little ficlet that's mostly dialogue.


_So, I have exams which is why I've not really been around. Give me two more weeks guys and then I'm free to write whenever I feel like it. Problem is I struggle to sleep if I don't get the stories out of my head for long periods of time so I thought I'd give you a ficlet._

_The title is from __"Life is a dream for the wise, a game for the __fool__, a comedy for the rich, a tragedy for the poor." - Sholom Aleichem._

* * *

"This is your own fault you know."

"I know."

"One day, I'm going to get tired of patching you lot up."

"Well, let me be the first to say that I am glad that day has not yet come," Athos told Aramis sincerely before he broke off into a pained grimace. "Are you trying to injure me further?"

"Oh, stop whining. It's not even that bad."

"There's a _musket ball _in my _leg._"

Aramis huffed at him. "Which is _your own fault. _I have no sympathy for Musketeers who think that shooting themselves in the leg is the best course of action."

"Well, it _was_, wasn't it? It got us past the guards."

"And injured you to the point that I've had to do all the heavy lifting," he griped sullenly. Admittedly they'd needed something to allow them admittance to the compound and a medical emergency had done the job but it had still left the two Musketeers in rather an uncomfortable position. He was allowed to be bitter.

"It'll do you good. Treville was saying that you were looking a little out of shape," he joked before instantly regretting it as Aramis took a rather vicious – if not unprovoked – stab at his wound. Once he'd regained his breath, he was able to bite out the question: "What happened to respect for your superior?"

Aramis snorted and prodded at the wound again. "I'm just doing my job. You know, stopping you from bleeding to death or getting an infection – the usual."

"Really? Because it looks like you're just trying to find a new way of inflicting pain."

"We have to find pleasure where we can."

"You're a cruel man."

"I repeat: you did this to yourself. I can enjoy the after effects but this is entirely your doing, ergo, not my fault."

"You don't have to be so happy about it, you know. I'm in pain."

"I know that. Despite all outward appearances, I am trying to help you. Musket balls can be slippery little bastards and the one in your leg is pressed against the bone; you're lucky that you didn't shatter it."

"While I bow to your superiority in firearms, I am actually able to aim at point blank range."

Aramis raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Well, next time you feel the need to maim yourself, aim so that the bullet comes out again. You lose a lot more blood but it means that I don't have to go fishing around your innards for things that shouldn't be there."

"I shall take that into consideration. Next time."

Aramis' head made a soft 'thunk' as he dropped it onto the table Athos was perched on, groaning quietly. "Why do I even bother?"

Athos smirked and patted the back of Aramis' head awkwardly. He really was in considerable pain, and having a sniping match with his brother was a good way to relieve the tension that piled into his shoulders.

There was quiet for a few moments before Aramis suddenly jerked his hand away from Athos' leg, causing the Musketeer to cry out sharply as the pain flared up. Aramis was smiling, waving around the bloody musket ball in triumph as he continued to mutter about foolish soldiers who were too trigger-happy for their own good.

"A little warning might have been nice," Athos hissed after a long moment, his face pale.

Aramis sniggered. "Pleasure where we can," he chimed happily, dodging away from the half-hearted punch Athos aimed at him. "Besides, it was going to hurt either way. At least you weren't tense."

"I really hate you sometimes."

"I can live with that."

It was at that moment that Porthos and d'Artagnan stumbled through the door, both absolutely covered in mud but calm and relaxed. They took in the sight before them – Athos, white with pain and irritation, and Aramis, all but crowing with vindictive satisfaction – then looked at each other, shook their heads, and left the way they came. Aramis just laughed harder.


End file.
